


Calm Before the Storm

by GloriousBlackout



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Friendships, Gen, Goats, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Minor Bickering, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Sam-Centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 16:33:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14958150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriousBlackout/pseuds/GloriousBlackout
Summary: Pre-Infinity War. Sam pays a visit to Bucky's farm and gets a brief taste of peace after two years on the run.





	Calm Before the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've written for Sam and it turns out I've really missed him. It's also been nice to write a story based Pre-Infinity War, as it's definitely better for my emotions than stories set in the aftermath! I'm pretty sure this is veering away from canon as I don't think Sam was too familiar with Wakanda in IW, but I'd like to pretend he visited there a few times in the years he spent on the run, hence this story :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this and any feedback is appreciated!

"You named a  _goat_ after me?"

The laugh Sam's disbelief draws from Bucky does little to save his dignity from the gutter, though admittedly there's something nice about seeing the man exhibit any sign of happiness. Perhaps 'off-putting' is a better description; the sight of crinkled eyes and a wide grin at Sam's expense strikes a sharp contrast to the steely, murderous glares he's grown familiar with, and the last time he saw Bucky in person he was doing a fine impression of an ice sculpture. For once, Sam agrees wholeheartedly with Steve's assessment that Bucky is getting better and he can't lie, it's good to see the proof of that first-hand.

"I named  _two_ goats after you," Bucky clarifies with a grin that's a mere quirk of the lips away from a wicked smirk.

Sam doesn't know if he should be honoured or affronted. He turns to face the herd before them - a rickety wooden fence the only thing keeping Bucky's charges in place - and wonders which two of the shrieking creatures share his name. A pointed finger directs his eyeline to a baby goat resting by its mother; black fur glinting sleekly in the afternoon sun, while curious eyes survey its surroundings with childlike interest.

"That one's Sam," Bucky informs him. As if on cue, the goat gives off a pleased bleat which succeeds in startling his mother. "He's pretty sweet. Barely a couple of weeks old, so he's still figuring out the whole 'walking' thing."

He points to another goat in the distance; its dark fur standing out among tall green grass as it stumbles clumsily towards a dignified group of bucks. "That one over there is Steve. He's Sam's brother. And  _that-_ "

Bucky gestures towards a larger buck with brown fur and a messy white beard, his menacing horns doing little to distract from piercing, slit-like eyes.

"That's Wilson. He's an asshole who headbutts people for fun."

"And he made you think of me," Sam deadpans, shaking his head as the goat in question bleats angrily at another buck, chasing him off with an unspoken threat. "I don't know whether I should be flattered or hurt."

There's that laugh again, one which must have been a rarity in the past seven decades. Sam imagines it would have earned Bucky's brain a trip to the blender if his handlers were ever to witness it.

Bucky seems simultaneously older and younger than his years when he lowers his shields enough to express happiness so openly. The lost look of a frightened child forced to follow orders has been eradicated, making him seem older, but the soft laughter lines forming around his eyes seem to erase years of torture in a matter of seconds. The healing process is nowhere near completion – Sam understands that better than most – and each burst of laugher is perhaps a little too fleeting to be unrestrained, but Bucky actually looks good. He looks whole, in spite of what's been done to him and the empty space on his left side where an arm should be.

"If it makes you feel any better, Wilson's one of my favourites," Bucky assures Sam with a smile that may or may not be sarcastic.

"It does, actually," Sam concedes, because if he's going to have farm animals named after him, at least they seem to have personalities of their own. "Though, for the record, headbutting people at random sounds more like your thing."

There seems to be enough truth in that for Bucky not to bite back a retort, or even be offended by the insinuation. Instead, he merely considers Sam's words for a second before agreeing with an exaggerated shrug, pushing away from the fence to return to one of the many duties that helps him pass the time nowadays.

It's perhaps unfair to bring up ancient history as a jibe, Sam thinks, but he's found himself on the receiving end of Bucky's punches and kicks enough times for a phantom jolt to resurface at the memory. If 'Wilson the headbutting goat' is as vicious as his reputation implies, perhaps 'Barnes' would be a better name for him. Or 'Winter' at least – the Soldier was always more of a menace than Bucky himself.

"What brings you so far out?" Bucky asks eventually, breaking Sam from a reverie he hadn't realised he'd slipped into and forcing him to ponder the question himself.

The official reason he's in Wakanda at all is to update his and Natasha's weaponry, after they received extensive damage on their recent mission in Scandinavia. There's also the simple matter of gathering intel on a Hydra remnant currently residing in Britain, which is starting to look like their next assignment. Sam knows deep down that Steve has sent him here purely so he can take a break, however; so he can grasp some time to breathe and feel the sun on his face after wasting months in the shadows. He arranged the same for Natasha a few weeks back after she dislocated her shoulder - ignoring her many insistencies that she was fine once it was popped back in - and arranging ways for Wanda to meet up with Vision is a common enough distraction. The only person who hasn't taken a break recently is Steve himself, though Sam doubts the combined forces of their team, Bucky and T'Challa would be enough to force rest on him for longer than a few hours.

He knows Bucky isn't asking why he's in Wakanda – Steve's probably filled him in on that already – though that would be the easier question to answer. His reasoning for escaping the secure confines of the city, where he is shielded by familiar skyscrapers and the comforting bustle of busy streets, to visit a man he's not even sure he can call a friend yet is a mystery even to Sam.

To be fair, it's not like he came straight here. The urge to run and feel the heat beating down on him had taken hold the instant all official business was dealt with at the palace; had taken him to the countryside as his legs guided him past quaint villages and farms, towards a glittering lake where children played and greeted him as he splashed cool water on his face and back. If he has the time, he'll return there tomorrow and show them Redwing or give them a flight demonstration. The mere presence of a visitor had excited them enough that Sam imagines their awe at seeing his suit in action would be infectious enough to carry him through weeks of exhaustion.

Only after running for two hours did he finally let curiosity guide him towards Bucky's farm, the distant huts and bleating of goats convincing him he was headed in the right direction. If the man had been surprised to see him he'd given little indication of it, simply greeting him with a flippant ' _Hey Birdman_ ' before showing him round his new home; giving Sam a view of a peaceful life that must have seemed unreachable only two years prior.

"Just wanted to see you rocking the farmer look," is what Sam says eventually, because there's no way to say  _'I wanted to see how you were getting on'_  that doesn't sound ridiculously sappy. He likes the teasing relationship he and Bucky have established too much to risk making it weird. Or weirder, considering Bucky's a centenarian who's tried to kill Sam more than once. "It suits you more than I thought it would."

He glances back just in time to see a flicker of  _something_  cross Bucky's face – not quite a grimace but close enough – though he hides it almost as expertly as Steve would. Sam wonders if this truly is the life Bucky would have chosen for himself were he given even a modicum of choice; if hiding from the world weren't so necessary and the name 'Hydra' had left no imprint upon his life. Probably not, but then, neither Bucky nor Steve were able to come home from war intact enough to make that choice. Sam hadn't either – he'd come home with a chunk of his soul torn away and buried along with Riley – and over the years he's tried not to dwell too deeply on how readily he threw himself back into the fight when Steve asked.

Perhaps Bucky's glimmer of unease stems from an all-too-real fear that this peace will be taken from him like everything else has. That he'll barely have time to indulge in a routine which suits him before his life is upended once more. It seems unlikely, given he's been granted sanctuary in the best-defended country on the planet, but experience is as harsh a teacher as any.

"Does this whole 'goat-herder' routine suit you?" Sam asks, before inwardly cringing as the words sound more sarcastic than he intends. There's some amusement to be had in how timeless Bucky appears in his Wakandan threads – one could easily have plucked him from the eighteenth century – but Sam hadn't wanted his question to sound so... insincere. If Bucky minds, he doesn't bother showing it as he simply adorns a small, long-suffering smile, but Sam changes tack regardless. "Are you happy?"

That gets a reaction at least. Any flippant response Bucky may have had to the first question dies on his lips. His eyes seem to dissect Sam to the bone as they linger just a little too long – expecting a witty follow-up, perhaps – but he relaxes once it's clear that Sam is serious before returning his attention to the calm fields before them.

It truly is beautiful out here, Sam has to admit. His prior experiences of Wakanda were limited to the palace, as he recovered from his time on the Raft and slowly came to terms with his newfound status as a fugitive. Beyond these borders, his recent travels have bought him little time to think or breathe either. His run across the veld had been a novelty he's barely tasted in two years, and through the ache in his legs and the racing of his heart, he'd let himself get lost in the peace that surrounded him.

They are literally shielded here. A forcefield surrounds them like a silent guardian, keeping attackers at bay and granting them momentary respite. That degree of safety must seem so foreign to Bucky that Sam wonders if he'll ever get used to it.

It would be easy to find happiness out here, he thinks. Perhaps even for someone with as many demons lurking in their mind as Bucky has.

"I'm getting there," Bucky replies eventually, the words followed by a sigh as though the mere idea of finding peace is enough to release a weight from his shoulders. It may still be too early to tell if he'll ever fully embrace it. Steve only received news of Bucky's awakening eight months ago. Hardly enough time to have recovered fully from years of manipulation and torture, but apparently enough to have made steps in the right direction. "I think I am anyway. There are days where I can say I feel good and mean it, so that's something."

Sam nods, not expecting much in the way of an elaboration. There's something nice in knowing the peaceful farmer shtick isn't entirely a front – that Bucky has found some solace here against all odds – and not for the first time, Sam wonders if he too should settle down. If he should take more than a few days off and let life slow down for just a little while.

His mind balks at the idea before it fully has a chance to sink in. There is still too much work to be done and settling down has never really suited him anyway. If it did, he might never have agreed to fight with Steve in the first place.

"What about you?"

It takes a second longer than it should for Bucky's words to sink in, as though there's a trap hidden within them despite the man's tone being relatively light. Discussing feelings hadn't really been on Sam's agenda, though he's well aware that he's the one responsible for veering them in this direction, and he doesn't know why Bucky's displaying a sudden interest in him.

"What about me?"

"Are you happy?" Bucky asks slowly, as though talking to a dim child, before dropping the façade of irritation and managing a small smile. "Steve doesn't tell me much, but life seems pretty stressful on your end."

"You're telling me," Sam huffs a laugh, trying not to think of the permanent ache in his back from ancient mattresses in terrible hotels and the sleepless nights that follow him like a ghost. Sleeping on the quinjet is often the more comfortable option, as depressing a thought as that is. Keeping busy is good though. The company is even better. Neither Steve nor Natasha are afraid to rib him on occasion and their sense of humour has survived many a covert mission and cold lead. That's not to say he doesn't miss home or his freedom; that he doesn't miss morning runs in DC or training the newbies at the Avengers Compound or walking through a crowd without fear of being recognised.

Sam doesn't regret anything though. He made a choice to side with Steve knowing it was the right thing to do, and no number of shitty days have made that conviction waver.

"I'm getting there too," he says with as much sincerity as he can muster, managing a small shrug and a smile. "Though trust me, two days in seven-star accommodation is gonna do me a world of good."

Bucky laughs again at that, and Sam starts to wonder if he should draw up a tally. He could make a game of it; compare it with Steve's skype chats to see who can draw a laugh from Bucky with more ease. He suspects he might have the edge, if only because the conversations between the two ancients are likely weightier than anything Sam's prepared to get himself involved in.

"You ain't staying out here then, I take it?" Bucky asks, gesturing towards the twin huts at his back, and Sam scoffs loudly at the idea.

"Absolutely not," he says, though from what he's seen of Wakanda, even their shabbiest accommodation is likely better than some of the hotels he's stayed in. "I've just been offered the greatest bed I've seen in years. I'm not throwing that away just to sleep in some glorified shed."

It seems Bucky can't argue with that.

Any work he may have intended to return to is instantly neglected (Sam's not sure what else there is to do around here besides gather bales of hay or chop wood) as he wanders back to the fence. His herd remains calm, the threat of oncoming headbutts seemingly at bay as Wilson lazes happily beneath the sun, and there's little to do besides gaze out to the plains and breathe in fresh air. Sam wonders if months out here has been enough to ellicit a sliver of boredom; whether there's any part of Bucky that still craves the rush that comes with a fight. He's not sure how long he would last himself, though given time and consideration the simplicity of farm-life might start to sound appealing.

"So, two days huh?" Bucky asks. When stated so plainly, the time Sam has to spend here seems woefully short. "Where're you off to after this?"

"Thought Steve would have told you that by now," Sam says, though he imagines work is likely the last thing the pair want to discuss when there's so much ancient history to retread. Bucky doesknow that he's just arrived from Norway – he'd flippantly brought up the drastic change in climates not long after Sam showed up - but if he knows the others are still there, awaiting his return and chasing what's likely a dead lead, then he hasn't seen fit to mention it. His curiosity about their future exploits seems genuine enough though, so Sam indulges him without further protest.

"Next mission's in Scotland, according to T'Challa's War Dogs," he starts, silently wondering why their enemies can't hide-out in Spain or Italy or anywhere else with some degree of warmth. "They've tracked down a Hydra operative who fled to Glasgow once Project Insight crashed and burned. Might be nothing to it – it doesn't look like he's actively mobilising so if he's still active then he's very good at hiding it. But he could have information. Could tell us if there's anything left of Hydra to burn to the ground, given enough persuasion."

Sam doesn't miss Bucky's flinch at the mention of the organisation that exploited him for so long, nor the downturn of his lips that mars any lightness his earlier laughter had brought. The moment passes in a heartbeat as Bucky recovers with surprising ease, but Sam can't ignore the glint of steel in his eyes. Whether it implies he would gladly light the match himself or whether he'd rather spend the rest of his life never hearing the word 'Hydra' uttered in his presence, Sam cannot say, but he follows the subtle cues to change the subject without hesitation.

"Honestly, I'm betting on it being nothing. The whole trip's mainly an excuse for Wanda to go on a hot date with Vision in Edinburgh," he says flippantly, and the switch in topic seems to be appreciated if the weak smirk pulling at Bucky's lips is any indication. "I'm more of a Paris man myself, but if they want to be romantic in Scotland then that's their call. I guess rainy and miserable suits them just fine."

"You've been watching too much Braveheart," Bucky teases, rendering it Sam's turn to have the laugh pulled from his chest so suddenly it makes him start.

"Says the man who looks like he just walked off the set," he retorts, waving a hand dramatically over Bucky as he takes in the blue blanket draped across his neck and the red robes which could be mistaken for tartan clinging to the rest of him. "As impressed as I am that you even know that movie exists, I was thinking more of Trainspotting."

"Shuri showed me clips from it once," Bucky explains, which makes sense. Any pop-culture reference Bucky's picked up can likely be traced back to Shuri as easily as Steve's references can be attributed to Tony and Natasha's - and later Sam's - attempts to educate him once he awoke from the ice. "Braveheart that is. Not sure I've heard of the other one."

"Trainspotting? It's not that bad," Sam admits with a shrug. He's seen it far too many times to know how he truly feels about it anymore – not on purpose, he might add – and it's probably a little too heavy to show to someone as deep in recovery as Bucky is. It was the only reference for Scotland he could think of in the moment however, which suggests he should expand his to-watch list if time is ever a thing he can waste again. "My friend Riley was obsessed with it. He had a Scottish uncle so he'd always brag about understanding the accents when the rest of us were struggling. If I were you, I'd watch it with subtitles. And I'm not just saying that because you're old and deaf."

That earns him a rude hand gesture which might have made Steve blush if Sam hadn't learned first-hand how colourful the Captain's own language could be. Perhaps hiding in the shadows has brought him back to the crudeness of his army days. Whatever the reason, Sam has plenty of recordings to show Tony and Rhodey if ( _when_ , he corrects himself, because the alternative is too depressing to consider) they ever reunite and come home.

There's silence for a moment. Or quiet, rather. Whenever silence beckons, a high-pitched cry will sound from one of the babies in the field, only to be answered by a lower bleat from their mothers. The noise doesn't quite match the constant hum found in the cities Sam's lived in, but the soft whooshing breeze and nearby birdcalls and trickling streams feel like a comforting blanket being placed over his shoulders. He could make a recording consisting purely of those sounds; could lose himself in it whenever he finds himself desperate for sleep on a quinjet which never seems to have space to breathe.

"How's Steve?" Bucky asks, and Sam doesn't bother resisting a raised eyebrow at that. He knows full well their last call was only five days ago and that the next one can't be too far away. Sam has even been dragged into their chats once or twice, though that quickly descends into teasing and playful insults and perhaps derails the serious 'recovery talk' more than Steve would like. To the man's credit though, he often laughs along even during Sam and Bucky's cruder moments.

"You tell me," Sam says, though perhaps doing so is unfair. Steve has been little more than a face on a screen for Bucky since the days after he woke up – the only time Steve had allowed himself to return to Wakanda. "You're the one who skype-dates him on the regular."

"I only know what he's willing to tell me," Bucky admits, refusing to acknowledge Sam's insinuation with little more than a smirk. Even that fades in a heartbeat, though Sam can't blame him for that. Years of friendship with Steve has taught Sam well enough that he's not one to open up when he's hurting. Being thousands of miles away from his best friend must only have made such concealment easier, and he wonders just how many false smiles Bucky's had to endure while being unable to do anything about it. "Seriously, how's he holding up?"

Sam takes a breath, and then another, because that's as complex a question as someone asking him how  _he's_ doing. In truth, he doesn't know. They're all surviving and coping with their situation in their own ways, and there's an element of their current lifestyle which is almost fun, if he can call it that. It's almost like being in the army again, when there was always something important to do - always something keeping him occupied - only this time the option of going home is truly lost to him. Sam's gotten the impression that their current lifestyle suits Steve and Natasha more than it suits himself and Wanda, but that doesn't necessarily mean that they too don't miss normality, nor that the absence of the rest of their team doesn't stick like a brand whenever they find themselves in a fight which threatens to test their limits.

"Steve's fine," is what Sam settles on saying. It's as good an answer as any, he's always found. "Probably as tired as the rest of us. I think he misses home more than he'll admit to my face, but otherwise he's good. Still annoyingly sprightly for an old man."

That draws another laugh – that makes four, Sam thinks – and some of Bucky's concern seems to abate at his answer despite how insufficient it seemed in Sam's head. He makes the decision there and then to force Steve into taking a break and returning to Wakanda once their next mission is behind them; to ease his own and Bucky's fears and forget the world at large for a week or two. After Glasgow, maybe. Stifling heat after spending days in what is likely going to be a rainy city will do them all a world of good.

The planet will surely survive without their help for a few days, though convincing Steve of that promises to be an uphill struggle.

He's barely started to plan a group-trip to the city's colourful markets before a low pinging disturbs the surrounding peace, seeming out-of-place in an environment so timeless. Instinct has Sam reaching for his own phone, but the sound isn't coming from his pockets. Instead it's Bucky who looks down at the watch on his wrist, which turns out not to be a watch at all but some high-tech Wakandan gadget – betraying the image of simple farmer a little in Sam's eyes – and he's barely given time to read the flashing text before he shakes his head in disbelief.

"Speak of the devil," Bucky laughs, showing Sam the screen so that the words ' _Incoming Call: Steve Rogers'_  are displayed plainly, and Sam can't help but smile himself. He imagines a call of his own awaits tonight.

"He'll be asking you to spy on me," Sam warns, as Bucky starts heading towards his hut to privately take the call. Knowing Shuri, the place is likely a technological haven disguised as a traditional shack; at the very least there'll be a laptop that probably costs more than Sam's house. "If he asks, I was never here. We don't want him thinking I care now."

"No danger of that," Bucky scoffs, though his tone is light enough to imply that Sam's cover of 'uncaring asshole' has already been blown wide open. Damn. "Be seeing you, Sam."

Sam merely raises a hand as a gesture of farewell. Bucky nods at him in silent acknowledgement as he wanders towards his home, finally seeing fit to answer the call with a verbal instruction and giving Steve a hurried  _'_ _gimme_ _a minute'_  before vanishing from view. The rickety door closes with a loud creak, and synthetic light spilling through the cracks indicates the moment Bucky finally switches on his computer or laptop or whatever futuristic equivalent Shuri has provided (chances are the WIFI out here is perfect as well, Sam thinks with a certain degree of bitterness). It could well be over an hour before the conversation ends and Bucky emerges once more, and Sam's hardly keen to hang around when simple luxuries like a shower and three-course-meal await him back in the city.

He gives himself a moment to close his eyes - to feel the sinking sun on his face and bask in the faint hum of nature - before taking a breath and bracing for the moment where he'll have to walk away. He should head back before it gets dark, though he likely still has time to waste before then. Once darkness descends, no doubt the distant skyscrapers will come to life and guide his way home as surely as a lighthouse guides ships to the shore, and so long as he remains out here he can pretend there are no important duties awaiting him. No weapons to pick up from the lab, or intel to pass along to Natasha regarding a rogue Hydra operative who's escaped justice for far too long.

A deep, rather indignant bleat drags him from his thoughts. He spins in the direction of the noise, only to find Wilson studying him from his perch upon a jutting outcrop, eyes boring into Sam intensely as he gives off another disapproving cry. Sam doubts he can see enough of himself in Wilson to justify the nickname, but given the creature's repute, he remains frozen in anticipation of an attack which doesn't come.

Instead, Wilson descends carefully from the rock and approaches without fear, though slowly enough not to be threatening. Deciding that staying on his good side would be the best course of action, Sam pulls a clump of grass from the ground and extends it as a peace-offering. Once he's drawn close enough, Wilson sniffs at his hand with a certain degree of suspicion, before happily chewing on the proffered blades of grass and coming to rest at Sam's side.

"Hey, you're not so bad," Sam admits, aware that he's likely tempting fate, though Wilson gives no indication of planning an attack. He scoops up more grass and lets the goat feed himself to his heart's content; petting his head with his free hand and earning no complaints in the process. The eyes are still unnerving – there's a certain emptiness to them that slit-like pupils don't help – but the next bleat Wilson lets out seems to be a satisfied one. "Tell you what. I'll like you even better if you headbutt Bucky at least once before I leave."

There's another bleat at that. Sam takes it as an acceptance of his challenge, and rewards his accomplice with continued strokes of his soft brown fur.

He really should head back now. It's getting late and, much as he'd like to deny it, he does have work to do before he leaves Wakanda. Sweat brought forth by the intense heat is clinging to him in a way which has him craving a cold shower, and exhaustion he's done well to fight off threatens to overwhelm him if he lets his guard down further.

It  _is_ rather tempting to stay though. The bed awaiting him is likely softer than he'll be comfortable with; for all that he'd joked about it, he can imagine the cots residing within the huts being more to his taste than luxurious sheets and marshmallow-soft mattresses. Here, his surroundings offer nothing but beauty and peace, in sharp contrast to the city streets he's called home all his life, and he knows he's barely come close to scratching the surface of what Wakanda has to offer.

In the end, however, he does force himself to leave. After all, if he waits any longer, Sam fears he'll find himself never wanting to return to civilisation. That would hardly be so bad – Bucky's a good example of how to build a life out here – but there's too much responsibility awaiting him elsewhere for him to neglect his duties so completely. Natasha and Steve and Wanda need him to return, and letting them down has never been on the cards.

It's a shame though. Given enough time, Sam thinks he too could learn to be happy here.

**Author's Note:**

> ... And then they both lived happily ever after and nothing bad ever happened to them again.
> 
> Thank you for reading this! I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
